Blue eyes
by Vandylia
Summary: Not really about Jane Eyre...but i couldn't find a category...summary: Meet Jean, your average teenager, living an ordinary life, or rather, a dull and uneventful one.But one twist of fate changes everything...
1. Chapter 1

"Who are y-you?" Surprisingly, I had enough courage to question the pair of extremely light eyes staring up at me from under the shrubbery. I offer my hand but the gesture isn't welcomed. Taking a step back, I lean against the old oak tree and cross my feet. That's right blue-eyes, I'm not moving an inch till you come out. The shrubbery rustles and an arm slowly emerges; an arm, so long, light and translucent that I can see the intricate pattern of blue veins just beneath. Next, a foot appears, as long as the arm; also translucent. Gradually, and reluctantly, it brings its head forward and looks at me doubtfully. I gasp. A jungle of shaggy, yet silky dark hair drapes over her slight shoulders. Her long, wide, blemish-less brow is hidden behind a messy fringe. Holding on to a branch, she helps herself up and her whole figure is presented before me. She is of slight built, almost child-like in appearance. Her dress which is of some light pink cotton is tattered. The hem is completely covered in dirt. One of her hands is clutching onto a hat; an old-fashioned kind of hat, with a pink ribbon around it. Hesitantly, she extends her free arm forward and I just gape, bewildered. She looks at me as if expecting something, and then I realize how dense I am. Duh, she wants to shake my hand. Her fingers are extremely cold and I quickly withdraw my arm. Nodding, she opens her mouth to speak, "How do you do?" I'm somewhere in the middle of a forest, alone and afraid, and she asks me that? Trying to match her formal tone, I reply "Fine, thank you." Ha. I can be sarcastic too. She looks down and fumbles about with her hat, clearly uncomfortable. Then, she peers at me from beneath her fringe and asks, "Y-You're not from around here a-are you? S-sorry, not to be rude-uh- I'm Elizabeth Howard, and you?"

"I'm Jean. Um, Jean Howard. Such a coincidence we should have the same surname!" I say and before I know it, I feel my breath coming short. I gasp for air, my eyes roll backwards and darkness descends upon me.


	2. Chapter 2

Ow. My head hurts. God. I don't want to go to school today . But I can't not go, can I? All because of Mr. Weinstein's common assessment which I can't afford to miss considering the D I got for Literature. I mean I love reading good works of literature. But analysing them? Not so much. But five minutes of sleep won't make me all that late…

God. What time is it? Have I overslept?....Why is my bed rumbling about? Oh my god, it's an earthquake!!!! At once I open my eyes and let out a piercing scream. And when my eyes fall on my immediate surroundings and realize that I am not on my bed, nor in my room, my scream gets even louder.

"Miss!?? Are you all right?" a male voice asks. Only, I can't see the source of the voice for I am in seated in some kind of bouncing compartment. Am I being kidnapped? But that would hardly be likely...coz my dad's not in the government…and I don't have any real enemies…at least not to my knowledge. Blinking my eyes several times, I assure myself that I am not dreaming and examine the compartment. The walls of said compartment are detailed with paintings of fruit. Leaning closer, I can see miniature sized grape, orange and pomegranate. My kidnapper, whoever it is, certainly has a taste for interiors. I look up and gasp. The ceiling is lavishly decorated with paintings of cherubs and angels dancing about a blue sky. I touch it, just to make sure and immediately draw my fingers back as they strike the cold surface. This is real….Turning right, I see a curtained window. Hmm. Finally, some answers to where I am…Drawing the crimson curtain aside, my breath catches in my throat as I behold my surroundings. A meadow of dazzling sunflowers illuminates the slopes of an enormous hill which seems to go on forever. Bathed in the warmth of sunlight, the flowers glisten and glow as they sway to the gentle breeze. _Wherever I am, I am certainly nowhere near home. _The sky too, is strangely clear. Not a single grey cloud could be seen. Not even a speck. Hastily, I close the curtain as a painful possibility enters my head. _Am I dead? Did I expire in the earthquake_? _Was there even an earthquake? And was I that fast asleep I couldn't get out in time? Why am I not remembering properly? Oh my god, the assessment! But surely I can't do it now….now that I'm de-_

"Ma'am!? Are you alright back there?" Right, so I'm on my way to meet my maker after I just found out I've crossed over in an untimely fashion. And you, whoever you are, think it's alright? I haven't even had a single date in all my sixteen years and now I'll never have one! And it's ok!? And prom and my grades and (sigh) Nick…..now he'll never realize…. it's too late. Before I know it, big baby sobs stream down my face as I say all this aloud. A pitiful mess I was.

"Miss!?" asked the persevering voice again. But I, in all my wretchedness could not utter a syllable without breaking down completely. If anything, I should at least be allowed to cross over peacefully and at my will too. And I choose not to talk. After a few minutes, the rumbling compartment comes to a halt and I hear a 'thud' as someone lands on the ground. _My time has come._ Closing my eyes, I usher a prayer and wipe away my last tear, telling myself to accept this turn of fate. I wait calmly. A few seconds pass. Silence. Complete silence fills my ears. _This is it._

"Miss?" asks a voice, quite near to me. What? Was there some kind of form you had to fill before you crossed over? Like which country you'd want to be born in? Was Reincarnation even possible? Exhausted, I open my eyes to find the compartment door thrown open, basking it with sunlight. Shielding my eyes, I squint and make out an unfamiliar face. Huh…oh my god…is this…

"Do you need some fresh air miss? The path's 'en rough all way long an' it ken get quite stuffy inside. But at least the weather's fine."

"Uh-", but before I can say anything, the man in strange clothes offers me a hand. Huh. I take it hesitantly and find myself being helped off the compartment. I nearly stumble as my feet hit the earth. The man-in-the-strange clothes must think I'm-oh my god, the view from the ground is even better. I can't help smiling a little at the sun-filled meadow. Why does such a mournful place have to be so beautiful? I mean sure, it makes one feel less uncomfortable, but it also makes one feel the pain of loss. I mean, how can you look at such a beautiful place- knowing that this is the last time you'll be able to experience it- and not feel grieved? The man-in-the-strange-clothes must have noticed my feelings- thanks to my having a very 'readable'face- for he said,

"'Tis only ten miles more I reckon'."

I could not help laughing a bit at this.

"You mean ten more miles to heaven?" I ask sarcastically. Yes, despite my situation, I somehow am able to joke.

But the man-in-the-strange-clothes only looks at me strangely like he figure out what I'd just said. Probably no one's ever told him something like that before. Maybe everyone else just sobbed all the way.

"You mean Henthsworth?" asks the man-in-the-strange clothes, eyeing my suspiciously.

Hens-what? Was he being sarcastic too? Noticing my bewilderment, he went on to say,

"That's where we're supposed to go 'int it? Pardon me miss, but I remember receiving strict orders from Lady Shaed to drive you to Hensworth and I dare say, though my mind's not what it used to be, I am sure of my orders."

"L-Lady who?" I ask in an unsteady voice. Was she like the person in charge in heavenly matters or something?

"Lady Sha-ed." he says, pronouncing each syllable, "The mistress of Hensworth."

Mistress!? Huh. Looking around for answers, my eyes land on a person seated by a tree, his face covered to a newspaper.

"This is unreal!" I exclaim, "Newspapers in heaven! What's in called? The Heavenly times!?" God, this is just surreal.

The man looks at me from above the newspaper and answers in a rather harsh voice,

"It's the Daily World." He then resumes to reading it but I for some reason ask,

"May I see it? Because I didn't see a single magazine stand on the way." Oh dear, now he looked annoyed. But it wasn't as if I was asking for much. However, he handed me the newspaper.

"Wow!" I go on to say, "It smells and feels like a real newspaper!" Both men exchange glances and are looking at me oddly. They must think I'm high, but how can I help it?

Looking down, I read the first thing I see, "Derby horse wins….they have races in heaven! But…Where are the comics?" I ask disappointedly. Flipping through the pages I look for the comics section until I realize something. Everything…..Everything is printed in black and white. Hmm."How come everything's in black and white?" I ask. I mean, I don't want to bother with coming up for an answer to that myself during my last precious moments…

"But uh miss" the man-in-the-strange-clothes replies kindly, "That's th' only kind. Beggin' your pardon miss, but where you came from, they had coloured newspapers?" Really, why is this old man always begging my pardon! I mean I'm the one on the way to heaven and I should be begging- wait, what did he ASK ME?

"Yes," I answer, "Where I come from, the newspapers are coloured and they also have a comics section in them." The man-in-the-strange-clothes nodded and dropped the subject. Presently, the man who was seated under the oak tree got up saying he was actually on his way to church. Huh…

"But it's Tuesday." I say.

He ignores me completely and asks for his paper back.

"But it is Tuesday coz that's the day of the common assess-"

"Beggin'your pardon miss," the man-in-the-strange clothes interrupts, "but it is indeed Sunday. You can check the paper to be sure."

What? Does he think I've gone bonkers or something? Sighing impatiently, I glance down at the newspaper in my hands and squint at the date…

"Sunday, 12 August, 1821."


	3. Chapter 3

"Say ahh darling!" a sunny-faced woman looks at me while opening her mouth wide. She has chestnut-brown hair and cheerful green eyes. Instinctively, I reach my arms up toward her but begin to shield my face as the 'aeroplane of food' comes shooting into my mouth. Disgusted, I spit the grub all over myself. "Now now, mommy won't buy you an ice cream if you don't swallow!" cooed the lady. What kind of kid could argue to that? Also a kid whose terminology was limited due to not having attained all teeth.

"Guh-keee!!!" I scream and begin to wail. Losing her patience, she slams the bottle of grub down and yells for someone called Marty to hurry up, saying that it was his turn. A few minutes later, a stocky kind of man enters the kitchen.

"What now Mary?" he asks, eyeing me from above his foggy spectacles. My wailing dies down immediately, aware of the consequences. "I'm too busy. You know that. After all you're her 'mommy' and if you can't get that thing to eat, lord knows who can." The man grunted angrily and was about to leave when the lady said,

"But Marty! I tried every possible thing and she won't eat. Damn it Marty. You're her 'daddy' and you ought to show more concern!" Here 'Marty' entered the kitchen again and the two of them began arguing like hell was on fire till my mom got so mad she threw the bottle of grub on to the floor and it shattered into a million pieces.

"Go-keeee inish!!!!"

With a jolt I awaken with a throbbing head. I rub my eyes several times and stretch out a yawn. What time is it? Feeling sore, I try to get up, but bump my head on something hard.

"Ow…" moaning and cursing beneath my breath, I fall back on my bed and rub my eyes harder, when all of a sudden, like a boulder crashing down, reality sets in. Knowing my eyes would deceive me, I make sure they remain shut while I feel my bed with both my hands. Right, so one thing I've assured myself: Obviously, I am not seated on my bed. Reluctantly, I open my eyes and gasp as they fall on my familiar, yet not-so-familiar surroundings. So this wasn't some strange dream…I should have known coz the only dreams (nightmares actually) I ever have are about stuff happening at school. Sadly, I am not the kind of person who is blessed with dreams about one spending time alone with her 'special' someone in some faraway place. Nope. No matter how much I think about it before I fall asleep. And also, everything feels too real...So where in the world was I? Oh my God…..Am I on some kind of movie set??? Worse, what if I'm on some kind of show!?? Are they videoing me right now!?? Suspiciously, I eye the ceiling of the compartment but don't find anything. Duh. How stupid can I get? The camera's supposed to be hidden. Gosh, that's gonna be so em-

"We're almost here Miss!" yells a male voice. A familiar male voice too. Right, I remember. A voice belonging to none other than the man-in-the-strange-clothes who is supposedly driving this thing…whatever it's called…a chaise? Well, I might as well act sensible while I'm being videoed and not like some wailing bab-

Oh my god! What the **** am I wearing!!!!? Looking down, I find both my arms, elegantly gloved, lying on top of a hoop skirt. The skirt runs all the way down to my ankles and is in some horrid grey colour. Raising my skirt a bit, I see a pair of….. feet. And nearly faint. How in the world did I misplace my precious Von Dutch trainers!??? Why am I staring at some dirty old lace-up ankle boots? Though I have to admit…they don't look all that bad…from the side atleast. Well, they don't look as horrible as my long-sleeved dirty-water coloured dress…..Gosh, it's awfully stuffy in here...why do I feel as if I can't breathe…doubtfully, I touch my waist and look at it in shock. How the hell did I lose two dress sizes??? This is so not my waist! Am I wearing a corset or something…is that why I feel so…well, strangled? Yes that has to be it! There's no way a crash diet could do all this for me. God, this is just too much….wait a second…what have they done with my jeans! ?Where are my clothes!!?? Oh God, don't tell me this is the Victorian version of 'Survivor'!!! Is Hensworth some kind of deserted island? Damn, they've taken my cell phone too. Isn't it illegal or something for people to knock you unconscious and dress you up in some weird Victorian get-up…even if it is for some strange reality show...and abandon you in some hack chaise? But it's not fair… I never even applied for this…Was it Jess's idea? Oh she is gonna be sorry she ever-

"We're here!"

The chaise comes to an abrupt halt, lurching me off my seat. Talk about playing it rough.

"Miss?" the door of the chaise is thrown open and the driver is looking at me with an odd expression on his face. Ha. He thinks I don't know… A few seconds pass in silence and he offers his hand to help me down.

"I am capable of getting down myself." I snap. Looking quite taken aback, he withdraws his arm and says,

"Shall I unload your luggage then,ma'am?"

L-luggage???

"Yes. Please." I say nonchalantly.

The man hurries about to fetch my luggage ( I wonder what's in it…) while I struggle to get down. No easy task, when you are clad in a hoop skirt (at least three feet in diameter) and when the door is just two feet wide. After much hassle, I land myself limply on the ground and take a deep breath.

"Miss?"

Opening my eyes after a short but refreshing breath, I find my luggage placed in front of me. Really it shouldn't be called luggage, this little tawdry suitcase.

"Thank you." I say politely enough. Picking my luggage I hold myself up high (they expect me to be put off by this???) and turn around. And almost swoon…Situated just a few yards away from me is the most magnificent looking mansion I have ever seen. I mean…the thing's larger than a shopping mall. It's grey and elegant and ….it's just beautiful. The second storey is supported by a series of intricately carved pillars…And the driveway…it actually has a fountain in the middle of it!…not to mention the road is lined both sides with neatly trimmed hedges that are practically overflowing with gorgeous flowers in all shades of violet I have never seen before…..it looks like a scene straight out of an Austen movie. Hmmm. Clearly this isn't a Victorian version of 'Survivor'. This has to be some kind of set though there seems to be a lack of film people.…

"Right." I say turning back around, "I'm afraid there's been some sort of mistake."

The driver looks at me anxiously and begins to scratch his head.

"Is this some kind of Austen set?"

"Pardon, Austen what?"he asks, scratching his head even harder.

"SET. You know, movie set. Come on don't play with me, I'm sure they paid you big bucks for this role of 'confused old driver who randomly appears' but you better say the truth or I'm contacting my lawyer."

"S-so s-sorry miss," now the old man actually looks scared, "B-but I'm sure I was given directions to bring you here."

"_Who_ gave you directions?"

"Why, Lady Shaed ofcourse. And beggin' your pardon ma'am, just this morning, y-you gave me the directions y-yourself-"

"I remember no such thing."

"Not to worry miss, 'tis to be expected after a long journey…one can forget quite easily…"

When is he ever going to understand I'm serious!!??

"Listen here." the old man looks astonished at being addressed so. I bet they pay him extra for that. "I remember no such thing and my mind isn't easily affected by fatigue. All I know is that this morning, I woke up and found myself in _your_ chaise being taken- or kidnapped-somewhere I've never heard of! Don't you know that this is illegal!? Sure, you film directors might be laughing in your seats (I say aside), but I am not falling for this. This is all FAKE!!! This house, th-this land…even you whiskers!" Now the old man looks like I'm possessed. I guess I want to prove my point and involuntarily, reach out and grab the old man by the whiskers. I pull real hard...only, it won't budge…and he looks like he'll pop over if I pull any harder. Maybe it is real. And even if it isn't, it's not like I can blame him…after all, he's just an actor doing his job. Wait a second….Immediately, I let go of him and begin unlatching my suitcase. Probably there are instructions in here!!! Hastily, I undo the belts and throw the lid open…..only to find piles of neatly folded clothes. Maybe it's under all this….. Crouching on my knees, I begin to fling dress after dress on the lawn. After having successfully emptied all of its contents onto the ground, I find myself staring at an empty suitcase.

"What?" I bark at the old man who has now come to observe me at a distance, "Am I supposed to get the instructions from you then?" But he doesn't answer me. Instead, he raises his eyes to the heavens and ushers a prayer. Oh brother. Does he really have to be this dramatic? I get up and begin to repack my suitcase when suddenly I hear the voices of some children approaching. Turning around, I see two boys and a girl, walking arm-in-arm. They are dressed in ragged clothes and are walking barefoot. Probably they're the 'street children' who are supposed to rob me of my belongings like in _Oliver Twist. _All of them look around the same age…five-ish, I think. On seeing the carriage they begin to exclaim how 'mighty grand' it is and how 'pretty' the horses look. One of the two boys comes towards me and asks me, in a confident voice,

"Shall I carry your luggage please?" I look down and smile. The little red-haired kid is grinning adorably. He sure knows his tricks.

"I'll take it!" cries the blond-haired boy running towards his friend. The two kids now begin to argue loudly over which of them gets to carry 'the lady's' luggage.

"I'll give you both a chance if you answer me this question." I say, placing a firm hand over my suitcase. Immediately, I have both their attention.

"Where are we?"

"Hensworth!" both boys scream back.

Huh…

"Why, you're both very good actors, to be sure!" but instead of smiling at the compliment, both boys look up at me confused.

"Ma'am?"

"Listen, I'll buy both of you ice-creams if you tell me the truth! Any flavour you want!" I say cheerfully.

Silently, the boys look at each other and finally, carrot top asks,

"What's a 'Wise cream'?"

He asks it so innocently and curiously that…th-that all of a sudden I realize. Because children- especially five-year olds- don't lie about things like ice cream.


	4. Chapter 4

**Note: Sorry for the late updating! I've been so busy I've hardly had any time to breathe..let alone write…nyways, hope u enoy :) **

The hustle and bustle around our house was enough to make any kid want to ask, "What's happening mommy?" I tugged on my mother's sleeve but she couldn't notice me. The living room was strewn with open suitcases, overflowing with stuff. Our stuff. My stuff. My dad, Mort, walked busily from room to room, carrying bundles of items in his hands. He dumped the pile into one of the empty suitcases and ventured back into a room to retrieve more stuff. I looked up at my mom. Her eyes were closed. "Mommy!!! Wake u-up!" I yelled, afraid she'sd dozed off. But instead of opening her eyes, she hurried into one of the room's my dad was in. I wanted to follow her, but received a severe "No!" So I wondered about the corridor, picking items off the floor and wondering what on earth was going on. I ventured near their bedroom and lingered outside the door, tiptoeing and trying to peek in through the key hole. I could catch fragments of their conversation : ….. "You don't understand"………… "Mort p-please" …………."You should've taught 'bout it before you said-"………… "Think about Jean, our-"

The fighting must have gone on for hours, because by the time I woke up, I was only able to catch a glimpse of Mort's foot out the door. The only glimpse I'll ever be having of him in a long time.

Tick tock tick tock……I wake up with a throbbing headache and close my eyes back immediately as they fall on my surroundings. No. This isn't happening to me. I turn to the right and try to reach the bedside table with my left hand. Feeling the handle of the drawer, I pull it open and start digging its contents. Then all of a sudden I realize how stupid I was and close it with a slam. Right. Of course there isn't any panadol here in the 19th century. Groaning, I throw the funny-smelling covers aside and sit on the edge of the four post canopy bed, facing the window. The curtains are already open (by me on the previous night) and it is almost dawn. I stretch out into a yawn and struggle to recall my somewhat fuzzy memories……. I kept picturing the ocean…and pianos…yes, there was definitely something to do with pianos…and "Elizabeth"…..strange as it seems… the name "Elizabeth" did sound very familiar but I couldn't quite place where I'd heard it. I remain as still as a statue and try to come to a conclusion but I guess that's impossible. Firstly because my memory's been fuzzy ever since I entered this uh realm (if that is the correct term to use) and secondly because it's hardly five am (I think) and I was never a morning person. Raising my head, I begin observe my surroundings as if I'm beholding it for the first time. With the little amount of light entering the room, I strain my eyes and try to focus them on the objects around. To my right, I see a white-washed dressing table with a large gilt-framed mirror looking over it. Placed in front of the dressing table is a dainty little tasseled stool. The kind I can picture queens would use in a palace chamber. Next to the dressing table is an armoire…it is quite large…but not nearly tall enough to touch the very high ceiling…Turning my eyes up, I examine the elaborately carved plaster of paris…clearly a lot of effort had been put into it…..having seen enough, I get down and begin to walk towards the trunk placed at the foot of my bed. After a little struggle, I manage to open it. Two neat piles of clothes (apparently nightgowns) are stacked inside. On top of each pile is a small bushel of some violet-colored flowers….probably lavender….closing the trunk, I turned towards the armoire…obviously, this is where my clothes are kept…I eye the intimidating dark closet and approach it with determinedness enough to break it open with my bare hands. But unlike the lid of the trunk, the doors of the armoire are quite easy to open. When my eyes fall on its contents, I nearly gasp in horror. Hanging on one side are rows and rows of blue-grey coloured frocks…I go through each frock in disbelief…how can they all be so…identical? Not to mention ghastly. However, all is not lost, for the last dress in the row is actually quite nice looking. It's purplish in colour and the hem is embroidered in beads. Gently taking the dress off its hanger, I place it on the bed to wear. I then go on to select a pair of grey stockings. Closing the armoire, I begin to start undressing. Dumping my nightdress on the floor, I reach out for the purple dress and slip into it. Only using the word 'slip' is overestimating the situation. I have to suck my breath in and actually jump up and down for it to get past my bottom half…but apparently, those two techniques aren't working. Whoops. Was that a 'rip' sound I heard? ….Yes!...I've managed to get one of my arms through the sleeve….and..now I just need to get my other arm in….I'm hardly dressed when all of a sudden, someone taps at my door and a maid comes in. I must have shouted because she did apologize while looking at the floor and was about to retreat when I asked breathlessly,

"Um,..could you help me with this?"

The maid turned her flushed face and met my eyes. I could see she was struggling not to laugh and I guess I would have been feeling the same if I were her.

"Of course miss. Beggin'your pardon miss, but breakfast will be as always…there will be no occasion and you won't need anything quite formal. Unless of course you-

"Oh! No…no..it's quite alright" I say, trying to mimic her formal way of speaking "….uh I was actually just trying this on to see whether it needed altering."

The maid smiled and only said, "Of course miss."

Going behind the dressing folders, I writhe myself out of the suffocating purple monster and wrap a towel around me. By the time I come out, Martha (the maid) has placed my gown (of the icky grey kind) and another white gown next to it. Talk about narrowing down my choices. I grab the grey gown and begin to put it on when all of a sudden, Martha clears her throat. Oh.

"Could you uh help me with this please?" I ask politely.

Smiling, she nods and grabbing the white dress, walks toward me.

"Oh no! I don't want the white dress, after all, like you said, it was only break-"

"Sorry to interrupt miss, but aren't you going to put on your petticoat first?" she says, gesturing towards the white gown.

"Oh…uh of course!" I say with a nervous laugh, "I –I was just talking about another white dress in the armoire…uh…the one with the lace." God, I am such a crappy liar.

"Of course miss."


	5. Chapter 5

My Journal

Since I'm finding it harder and harder to remember stuff, I figured I should write them down. Only I have to keep dipping my feather quilt in ink after like every five words and it can get messy. Anyways, I figured the only way I would get through this 'dream' is to play along…..just accept everything as it comes. I mean for one thing, I'm not being taped. And the people here (at Moordon Manor) don't look like they'd put up with any nonsense. Before I get carried away, I guess I should start by recording yesterday's details. You know, try to piece everything together.

Monday

After having spent a century on dressing me up, Martha finally took her hands off me and exited my bed chamber. I have to say, she managed to tame my monstrous hair and cage it all in a big bun at the back of my head. The corset was another story. Half the time dressing up was spent by me trying to worm my way into one of those wiry lung-crushers. I'm sorta used to it now…..I mean I think I've reduced down to a size 10! Who could complain about that? In one breath too! Who knew? Why on earth did the corset-wearing trend stop? I bet it would do the job of at least dozen diet pills. The Victorians did know a thing or two at achieving an envious waistline. Right, where was I? Oh yeah, so I was left to examine my reflection after Martha exited the room. And I have to say…I looked…um…neat? Sans straighteners sans mousse. You got to hand it over to her. Martha I mean. I did a few turns in my stiff grey dress and headed down for breakfast.

The corridor was freezing cold. I had to scurry down the hall way…teeth chattering, partially due to the cold and partially due to the eerie atmosphere. I mean it was hardly six and there weren't any windows…only the dim glow of candles. Dirty-green wallpaper embossed with some golden design ran along the walls. Unlike what I expected, there weren't any portraits of deceased people hanging on the walls. You know, the kind with the shifting eyes? It was also unusually quite. No bird chirping, no conversation….I could hear my own breathing. I felt kind of suffocated. Having reached the end of the corridor I was met by a stairwell. How was I to know which one led to the kitchen? Up or down? Common sense told me that the kitchen had to be on the ground floor so I headed downstairs. Only, the staircase was not as well lit as the corridor (even the corridor was very gloomy) and after descending halfway down, I found myself engulfed in complete utter darkness. So I started doing what I always do in such situations. I started humming a tune. It was all I could do to prevent myself from running back up. Balancing my steps by gripping the grooves in the walls with both hands, I began to descend slowly. "You're going to be fine Jean…" I told myself, "Stop acting like such a baby."…"I mean what are you? Woman or Walrus?" Having gained a little confidence, I climbed down the steps with more ease and quickened my pace. All was well until a sound brought me to a halt. I stopped and listened, but could hear nothing. Great, I was imagining things. I continued descending and abruptly stopped when I heard it again. I stopped. But this time, the sound didn't. I broke into a sweat…my hands began to tremble and I found myself running in the darkness, leaping three steps at a time. My breath came out in pants and my lungs screamed, but my ears didn't seem to hear them. They only heard the noise…which was beginning to grow louder. Closing my eyes (it didn't make a difference), I started to hum louder, when all of a sudden, my boot caught in a crack and I found myself collide with a heavy object. Before I knew it, I was tumbling down the stairway, like a gumball in a gumball machine. Only less silently…I must have let out a scream…because I heard someone entreat me to keep quiet. Whether it was my conscious or not, I could not tell. After what seemed an eternity, I found myself lying on top of something…quite hard. Where on earth was I? I opened my eyes and blew out a sigh of relief as they fell on serene surroundings of a kitchen. What was it about a kitchen that gave vibes of security and warmth? Groaning (I was heavily bruised), I looked down…and they met with a pair of green ones just below…blinking back at me…equally astonished. I screamed for my cousins in Norway to hear but before they could hear me, a hand was cupped over my mouth. A hand belonging to none other than…..

"John Kent. And you must be…"

"Uh…J-Jean Howard.."

Five minutes later, after much apologies and hostile glances, I found myself being introduced to the heavy object I had unceremoniously met with on the stairs.

"That is a peculiar name. All the more better, for I shan't forget it. You must be the music teacher?"

"Uh..yes..um.." I looked down and started fumbling with my gown. Why was I feeling…uh stupid? Like this whole thing was something like what only I would have imagined…..I mean meeting a God on the staircase…by accident? I must be dreaming. Such excessive good luck did not fall into the lot of girls like me. It simply didn't. That was a rule.

"Um…uh I was supposed to be down for breakfast…but I got a little lost on the way.."

"I can see that."

And then from out of nowhere, he pulled out a bell and started to ring it. Not long afterwards, a maid appeared.

"Show Miss Howard here to her breakfast." And with a nod, he was off.

Seriously, what is it with Victorian men and darting off like that?


	6. Chapter 6

**Note: This chapter is a bit long…but I couldn't break it into two…nyways, bear with me and review :) **

Right. So I'm the new music teacher…hmm..why don't I ever remembering applying for said post?? It's about time someone gave me an explanation…but I know only too well that they'd think I've lost my mind…so I guess I have to tag along like some side actor in a play…beacuse it is really starting to feel like one…a play I mean…sans audience.

Louise (one of the cooks) and I had a little conversation over breakfast…and it sure did clear a few things up…she was stirring up some batter for a cake and I was seated at the end of a long wooden dining table (in the kitchen), struggling to tear off a piece of bread which I swear was more like rock.

"So..um…how long have you been working for the Kents?" I asked, stuffing a piece of bread and cheese into my mouth.

"I joined the staff two yers 'go. My mam was gettin' too owld for work and I had to take after.."

"Oh..so your mom was a cook too? Here in Moordon manor?"

Louise looked at me like I had grown an extra nose or something.

"'Course she woz!! She woz th' best cook in th' country! I daresay she woz…whenever the maister threw one of 'em grand parties, it was mam who dun th' cooking…and many fine folk complimented her…but she's grewing owld..her eyes are not wot 'ey used ta be. But I made sure mam wrote d'wn all her recipies faw me."

I took a gulp of ale and nearly choked on it. Tearing up, I took my handkerchief and started coughing vigorously into it.

" You al'yt miss?" Louise asked with an amused expression.

"Y-yes, I-I'm f-fine-" here I broke into another embarrassing fit of coughing

"That ale's definitely too strong for poor Miss Howard. Why did you give it to her?"

Both Louise and I looked up and saw that the question belonged to a man leaning against the doorway. It was none other than John Kent. I was struck by how little I had noticed of him earlier. He didn't look very young…nor was he middle aged…I'd say thirty? He was medium in height and stature. There was an air of sarcasm and contentedness about him. His hazel eyes peered from beneath a fringe of black ravenous curls. Presently, a lock of hair fell into his view and he drew a hand through his chin-length mane, making it all fall into place.

Louise took a step or two forward and while looking at the floor, said,

"Begging your pardon, sir, but I could not find th' key ta th' cellar and I had ta make do with one of 'em bottles on the counter."

He merely crossed both arms across his chest and said, "The next time you're faced with such a situation, please inform one of your uppers. I'm sure Mrs. Carpenter would have had the key…we wouldn't want to strangle our guests would we?" Turning to me, "Miss Howard, my apologies for playing the role of a bad host. Given our previous introduction, I'm sure you must have the worst opinion of me. I hope you will forgive me in time." And with a nod he was off.

Before I could conjure up any speech, Louise approached my seat and was about to spill the contents of my bottle into the sink when I stopped her saying, "It's alright Louise, I think I can handle it…and even though I know can't, I'm sure you'll be able to."

Her dark eyes twinkled at this and she heartily thanked me. Wrapping the bottle in some cloth, she disappeared into her room (which was adjacent to the kitchen).

"Brother was right. You are rather an odd person…throwing away a hundred-and-fifty-year old bottle of ale just like that. Such a shame I wasn't here earlier…I would have been much more obliging than Louise."

I nearly jumped out of my seat. Turning around, I beheld another figure at the doorway.

"My apologies. I didn't mean to be rude. I'm Edward Kent…" some seconds passed in silence.

"Um, I'm Jean Howard…nice to meet you….uh, I'm the new music teacher" _you're such a genius Jean. Like he didn't already know that._

His blue eyes darted about the room, apparently looking for something. Unable to find it, he said,

"Well then, I should be off, but please, next time, when you wish to rid of a fine old bottle of ale, please inform me in advance." And with a chuckle, he was off.

I wasn't used to such friendly exchanges with strangers…but it did feel kind of nice…I guess hospitality runs in the family. Not to mention a good sense of humour. Strange, because I usually thought teachers, governesses and all the rest belonging to that lot were conveniently ignored. But I guess I was wrong.

Edward definitely was the younger brother. It was shown both by his youthful face and carefree attitude towards me. What a contrast in siblings. John seemed all irony, sarcasm and wit, whereas Edward was the jovial son, never without a word, and bashfully forward in manner. I was amusing myself with their contrasts when Louise appeared from her room.

"Ah, I see you've maide 'qquintance wit maister Edward. He's a fun 'un. Never in a bad mood. And he's frenly ta us too. He's nut proud loike 'is father."

"Sir Kent?"

"Aye. He's currently out o' town. He returns t'morrow fortn'yt. I daresay, he woz never close towards him chillun (children I assumed). Alwaiyse lock imself up in his study fo' hours. Lord knows wot he dus in there. Never smiles if he con't elp it." he she drew up some saliva and spit into a vessel. "Chapman woz sacked coz o' him. Poor fellow. Him woz th' gardener. He dun his job good. But then un day, while working on his vegetable patch, he got un Mrs. Carpenter's nerves- wretch'd owld woman- an she don't know how to keep her mouth shut, so she went a telling ta Maister Kent (Sir Kent) and Maister Kent always taikes Mrs. Carpenter's- wretch'd lady- lyk God's word so him- poor Chapman- was kick'd out. I feel so sorry fo his poor fam'ly. But I heard e's got work sumwhere else now, some Mr. Sutherton's near Wollenstone. I shud gow visit im an' his fam'ly. Shud bring 'em some nice 'tatoes…wud do 'em good…"

Louise went on to say how lovely Chapman's "gurls" had grown.

"Aw, lit'le Louise- naimed after me- looks loike 'n angel! I bet she'll grow ta be even more prettier than Miss Kent."

"Miss Kent?" I asked, realizing that the Kent's weren't just made up of two boys and there old strict father.

"Miss Kent's th' laidy of th' ouse. She's grown quite loike er mama….."

Louise spent at least half an hour enlightening me on the family's history and by the time I had chewed the last slice of bread, I was a well learnt scholar. The late Mrs. Kent,(Maria Westwood)- she had died ten years ago- was apparently a great beauty when she was younger. With dark curly hair and a pretty heart-shaped face, she was always the belle of the ball. At one of these 'grand bawlls' she happened to catch the favourable eye of Sir William Kent. And within three weeks, he was completely besotted, at least besotted enough to ask her to be his lady. Their marriage was the talk of the town. Maria Westwood, the daughter of an impoverished clergyman, had succeeded to secure the hand of wealthy Sir Kent, a Baronet. Not long after their wedding day, a beautiful baby boy was born to Lady Kent. People suspected scandal and rumours that Miss Westwood was actually with child before her marriage went all over town. The Kent's household was in an uproar. They decided to relocate to the seaside for a few months until the gossip died down. By the time they returned to Moordon, Lady Kent was pregnant with her second, Edward. But two was not enough. Sir Kent wanted a large family and so came little Selina Kent two years later. She took after her mama in her manner and was just as pretty. She was always the center of attention; constantly indulged and excused for bad behavior. Thus, she had grown up rich, spoilt and insufferably vain. The siblings were always arguing. The house was always in an angry mood. Rarely was there an hour's worth of peace. "Poor Lady Kent" began to fall sick some years ago. It was a rare illness…one that could not be regularly diagnosed. The family Physician, Dr. Stone, told the family that he himself could not directly point out what the illness was. One day, Sir Kent was called abroad on business and he had to leave, leaving his wife and children behind for a month. This was inexcusable. Therefore, he paid Dr. Stone a handsome sum to live under their roof and attend to the failing Lady Kent. However, Sir Kent ended up staying longer than he intended. On his return, he found the household quieter than he had left it. However, this peacefulness did not last long. Within a week, Lady Kent passed away. Memorial services were carried out. After a week or so, another peculiar thing occurred. The death of Dr. Stone. This roused many suspicions all over town. Lady Kent's illness was thought to be contagious and the general conclusion drawn was that Dr. Stone had caught the sickness from her. Sir Kent was concerned about his children having being under the same roof as his deceased wife and therefore the house was abandoned for three months. The entire staff was dismissed as well. The house was fumigated with burning herbs thought to drive away any lingering germs and before long, the Kents inhabited it again. An year later, a baby was born to one of the Kents relations. The baby belonged to Lady Kent's sister. Already having six children to look after, it was considered impossible to bring her up. The only solution was to give the child away to another relation. The Kents very obligingly accepted and the child, a girl, was brought up as one of their own. She was christened Georgina Warwick. They loved her and treated her kindly. She excelled both in music and dancing. The best music teacher in town was hired. Mr. Fitzwilliam was an accomplished pianist and tutor. He had also composed a few songs of his own. Georgina was thrilled when she heard he was to be her new tutor. However, he did not remain long. Two years later, he was caught flirting with Miss Kent. Spotted, by Sir Kent himself, he was given the boot the very same day. Selina escaped any scolding by insisting she had not the least idea of it. She was forgiven, but however, from that day onwards, she was to be chaperoned everywhere she went by Miss Broomhill (who used to be governess). Georgina was disheartened and she missed her old tutor. The papers were searched for tutors but they found none. Last week, Mrs. Carpenter happened to be going through newspaper when she spotted my advertisement. She told the news to Sir Kent and Georgina was thrilled to finally have a tutor.

"How old is Miss Georgina?" I asked after some minutes of meditation.

"Oh, she's turnin' eight dis month. You two will get 'long very well. L'ttle Miss Georgina is th' most darl'n thing you ever saw. So unlaike Miss Kent."

"Miss Howard!"

I got up from my seat, startled. An old lady, of small stature stood in the doorway. She was clad in a black mourning gown and she wore a black laced cap which was secured by a knot under her pointed chin. A pair of minuscule glasses sat on the bridge of her nose and her brilliant blue eyes (which hid a shrewd mind) searched my face with a sign of friendliness.

"I hope your breakfast was good. Louise is quite the cook- not as good as her mother- but still very good."

I replied that I was stuffed and she exclaimed with her high-pitched voice,

"Oh good! Good. Now I can finally introduce you to our little protégé! Oh she is wonderful and I daresay, you two will get along capitally! She's currently in the music room. I've told her I have a surprise waiting for her this morning and she's been bothering me about it all day!" the old lady paused to catch her breath and chuckled,

"Well, we shan't keep her waiting any longer. This way,"

Before I could take a step, the old lady had scurried off into the corridor.

"Keep up!" she chirped.

I quickened my paced and rushed after Mrs. Carpenter and her trailing ribbons.

**Note: Yes. This story is going to be a mystery from this chapter onwards**** ;)**


	7. Chapter 7

God. How big is this house? At any rate, I bet we must have gone through twenty different corridors and climbed up and down at least three staircases. Apparently there wasn't a direct flight of steps to the ground floor (we were on the third) where the music room was and so we had to first descend the first floor…when Mrs. Carpenter all of a sudden realized she had left her diary in the morning room…which was 'conveniently' (not) on the second floor. So up again we went. After fifteen minutes of bustling up and down we finally arrived at the music room and there we were, panting outside its enormous doors.

I could hear the piano being played lightly and recognized the song as "Ode to Joy". I used to play it as a child and upon hearing the song again, I found myself whisked down memory lane. Ice-cream on Friday evenings by the beachside, me holding my mom's hand…..playing tag in the school grounds…..Mort leaving us behind…me leaning on the counter at my mother's hat shop…walking Pasha, our golden retriever in the park…me nearly throwing up on my first public speaking assignment…being called a 'beanpole' by Lisa and her size 2 cronies…..my best friend Nina moving all the way to Japan…me moving to a new school three thousand miles away…eating my first lunch in the staff bathroom…and Nick…smooching that new redhead in the parking lot after school…the day he asked me out…

"Miss Howard?"

I blinked twice and perceived a concerned looking Mrs. Carpenter boring holes in my face with her shrewd eyes.

"Are you quite well?"

For a second or two, my tongue lay motionless.

"Um yes, I'm fine. I've never been in uh…better spirits! It's just that I used to play this song as a child and it made me remember my hometown."

"And where is that?" asked the little old lady curiously.

"Cali-I mean…uh..Edinburgh." Phew, that was close.

"All the way in Scotland! My, no wonder you still look worn out by your long travels. Where about in Edinburgh? I have a cousin living there."

"Oh..um..it's a small village so I don't think you'd know it." I said, fumbling about with my gown.

"I daresay I know Edinburgh quite well. I visit Bertha every year, you know." Mrs. Carpenter sure did know a thing or two about getting her way.

"It's called..uh.." Oh God. How did I even get myself into this mess??? I look about the corridor and see a painting next to the music room...it's quite close to me and I can read the artist's signature painted in the bottom corner…_by Cornelius Pettigrew_......"Um, It's called Petti-grove." I say trying to act nonchalant.

"Pettigrove?" The old lady chirped in wonder and fixed her blue orbs on my face.

"Uh,yes, like I mentioned, it isn't highly populated and I'm sure the village has many names to it…I mean many people might call it what they want…but um I've always called it Pettigrove." _What is wrong with you Jean? Stop it. Stop it this instance._

"Pettigrove…" she repeated the word again as if she couldn't believe her own ears, sharp as they were.

"Well, since I'm writing to my cousin, I should mention it, maybe she who's lived in Scotland all her life, would know……well, now let me introduce you to our little Gina."

Thank God that was the end of that.

Mrs. Carpenter rapped on the doors lightly, paused, and pushed them open, gesturing for me to follow.

Breathtaking is not the word to describe the music room. I must have stood at the doorway like a gaping fool as my eyes glided over the room. Cherubs swirled in their painted skies, some strumming harps, others hiding shyly behind tufts of white cloud. Carpets of flowery gold stumbled from where I stood to all corners of the circular room. From the center of the ceiling hung a majestic chandelier…its crystals glistened in the sunlight which entered the room through the wide, floor length windows which ran from one corner of the room, all the way to the other, exposing a magnificently manicured garden…complete with gravel walk and maze. Presently, Mrs. Carpenter cleared her throat and I was obliged to enter the heavenly room.

I threaded lightly across the floor, afraid that if I stepped too hard, this dream would disappear.

As I approached the pianoforte (which stood right under the chandelier), I saw a little girl- Gina or Georgina I assumed- standing next to Mrs. Carpenter. She was covering her eyes with both hands and a giggle escaped her lips now and then.

"Can I see yet?" she asked in a voice full of impatience.

Her long caramel coloured hair was neatly combed into two plaits and her chubby face was framed with curls. She wore a cotton lilac dress and a pair of lavender boots to match. She giggled again and begged to open her eyes.

"Well….oh alright, a peek wouldn't hurt."

Georgina took her hands off and her brilliant blue eyes darted across the room. When they fell upon me, a smile of warmth broke on her face.

"Hello Georgina," I said, meeting Mrs. Carpenter's eyes. She nodded for me to go on.

"I'm your new music teacher, Jean Howard-"

Before I could finish, the little girl was in fits of laughter.

"Oh Mrs. Carpenter, how good and naughty it was in you!!" Running forward to meet me, she looked down and curtseyed.

"Nice to meet you Miss Howard."

"Nice to meet you too Georgina."

Mrs. Carpenter walked towards us and exclaimed,

"Well now since the both of you are sufficiently acquainted for lessons to begin, I shall leave you two to your study. Luncheon will be served at three. You'll be dining with me, Miss Howard."

The housekeeper closed the doors gently behind her and I turned around to face my pupil.

How should I start??? What should I say?? I was bothering myself with these questions for a few minutes while I fingered through one of Georgina's music books. A little while later, I learnt that I needn't have worried at all.

All of a sudden, my charge exclaimed stoutly, "When I grow up, I wish to be a great pianist! Like Beethoven! And I shall compose great symphonies played all over England!"

"Well then Georgina," I said, closing her songbook, "If that is your goal, you will have to work very hard and practice whenever you can. Come, let us not idle any longer; let me hear you play this song." I flipped through the pages of her music book, turned to "The Arrival of Queen Sheba" and placed it on the ledge.

She began the song beautifully. Clearly the girl was talented for her age. The music seemed to make the room come alive once again. I paced near the wide glass windows and looked outside. In the middle of the garden burst forth a fountain. Carved fish leaped through pockets in the gushing water. Bushes spotted with pink flowers grew around the fountain, enclosing it in a neat circle. I longed to be out there that very moment. I wanted to get lost in that maze. My eyes fluttered across the green meadows in the distance and I spotted something. It was moving towards the manor….nearer and nearer it drew. Now I could hear it too. All of a sudden, the piano playing stopped and Georgina ran to the window.

"Sir Kent is here! Sir Kent is here! I must go and see what he has got for me!" the little girl squealed with excitement. The port chaise stopped near the entrance of the house and a tall, rather lanky man was helped out. He wore a cloak and a tall hat. I could not make out his face.

"Oh please Miss Howard??? Can I go greet Uncle Kent?"

Was I supposed to let her go? But then I received strict instructions from Mrs. Carpenter that a break could only be given after three hours of practice. Maybe his arrival would make today an exception.

I looked down at an anxious Georgina and let out a sigh,

"Alright, you may leave, but,- Georgina, wait!" She had already reached the door and hesitatingly walked back. "But you can spend no more than half an hour."

"Thank you Miss Howard!" The little girl embraced me and in a wink, she was gone.


End file.
